Midnight Coward
What can't be decided
In the morning it will bring itself to you.
What can't be decided
Can fool you into thinking maybe you can choose.
I can see what's coming,
But I'm not saying it.
October 3, 2005 (Continued Flashback)
When he awoke, it was dark outside. The rain still fell at a steady pace, banging loudly against the windows. The noise had not awoken him, however.
He was too content to sleep.
For the first time since he could remember, he neither wanted to go back in time nor go forward; he wanted to remain in this very moment for eternity.
And of course, it was impossible.
He breathed deeply, noting with interest that Hermione, even now, smelled slightly of a library-a combination of old books and new ink and parchment. He caught himself thinking she smelled like Hogwarts, like home. The idea was at once terrifying and comforting.
But then, recently, most things associated with Hermione have fulfilled that contradiction.
He twisted his head to glance at the alarm clock sitting on the dresser. Hermione insisted on keeping one, even in school. The block red numbers blared, and blurry as his vision was, he could still make out the time.
Midnight.
Hermione shifted in her sleep, pressing closer up against him and mumbling incoherently. He was struck by how beautiful she was-beautiful in that subtle way that was so typically Hermione. His heart clenched painfully.
For a moment, he almost thought he had a choice.
The moment ended quickly, and he was left empty. He attempted to disentangle himself from her quietly and without waking her. It proved difficult; she clutched him and furrowed her brow, muttering under her breath. When he succeeded, he reached for his glasses.
Bitterly, he realized they reminded him of Ginny; the new square frame was far more stylish than his former clunky round one, not to mention the unbreakable charm on them was rather useful, as an Auror.
No more oculus reparo, she had said.
He glanced back down at Hermione, memorizing her features.
No more oculus reparo, indeed.
Hermione stirred, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
"Harry?" She murmured.
He should have left earlier.
"Hey."
She sat up, bringing the covers with her, and searched his face for a long moment.
He sighed; she nodded.
"Okay." She nodded again. "Okay."
He reached out and touched her face, briefly, gently. For some reason, it felt more like betrayal than any previous act had.
He didn't care.
Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply.
He pulled away, stood, and gathered his clothes with a quick spell, a flick of the wrist. She watched him as he dressed.
He opened his mouth to speak; she shook her head. "Don't. Please, don't."
I don't want to leave.
I want to stay, with you, forever.
I need you.
I love you.
Goodbye.
He closed his mouth and walked away.
Without a sound.
July 17, 2006 (Continued Flashback)
His cell phone rang loudly, awakening him from his slumber.
Only four people ever called him, and only one would call him now.
He sprung out of bed and flipped the phone open.
"Hello?"
"HARRY? HARRY, CAN YOU HEAR ME? HERMIONE TOLD ME TO CALL YOU ON THIS BLOODY THING. SHE'S HAVING THE BABY, HARRY! COME QUICK!"
"Ron! Stop yelling. Bloody hell. I'll be there soon."
He ended the connection without saying goodbye and scrambled around the room, looking for some robes to throw on.
"Harry?" Ginny called, groggy with sleep.
"Hermione's having the baby." He rushed out. "I have to go now. You stay here with the kids. I'll owl you."
He apparated out without waiting for a response.
When he arrived, St. Mungo's was in complete chaos, as was the norm. He hardly noticed; he moved through the lobby in a daze, barely acknowledging the receptionist, so intent on reaching his destination.
At the door, however, he found himself blocked by a resolute Healer.
"We can only have one person in at a time, Mr. Potter."
He ranted, raved, shouted, even pulled his fringe up to reveal his scar ("I'm Harry fucking Potter! I killed Voldemort, you bastard, and I'll damn well do the same to you! Let me in the bloody room!"), all to no avail.
So he sat.
Stood up and paced.
Sat again.
Thumbed through some magazines.
Paced again.
His thoughts flew by like snitches, out of reach, incoherent, except for one, over and over.
Hermione's having a baby, now, and I'm not there.
I'm not there.
I'm not there.
"Harry?" Ron, looking utterly worn out and utterly happy, stood in front of him.
"Is she okay? Is everything all right? Did she have the baby? Is it okay? Is it a boy or girl? What does it look like? Is-"
"Whoa, whoa Harry!" Ron laughed. "You'd think your wife had a baby, not mine!"
Harry felt his heart constrict painfully. "But she-"
"She's fine. Tired, but fine. Yelled like a bleedin' banshee, I swear-frightening, that. I'm bloody knackered though, and hungry. Hope the food isn't rubbish here."
Harry swallowed; feeling overwhelmed, "But-Ron-"
"Oh, and it's a girl." Suddenly, Ron's face lit up completely. "Harry-I'm a dad! Can you believe it! I have a daughter!"
Shakes, such that he'd never felt before, overtook his body.
Guilt.
Awful, gut-retching guilt.
A familiar companion, by now.
He fought the urge to vomit.
"You can go in now, Harry. She wants to see you, of course." Ron smiled, still basking in happiness, and clapped Harry on the back. "A dad, me." He chuckled, then left.
Harry stood in front of the door, silent, staring.
"Mr. Potter?" It was the Healer, the one he had yelled at earlier.
"I'm sorry," He blurted.
He actually laughed. "Oh, I'm certainly used to it by now, though usually it's the husbands who put up such a fuss, and I must admit, you're rather more intimidating than anything I've had to deal with before."
He failed in procuring a smile.
"You can go in now, though. Mr. Weasley just left."
"I-yes." He gripped the doorknob tightly. "Thank you."
He wiped his brow, abruptly noticing its dampness.
He wished he could define what he was feeling at this moment.
He turned the knob and walked in.
And then he only felt warmth.
Hermione lay in bed, a bright glow to her face, a placid smile upon her face. In her arms, the child, the baby girl, wrapped in a pink blanket, clashing horribly with the smattering of red hair atop her head.
"Hermione." He croaked.
She looked up.
Their gazes connected.
A long moment.
A new, treasured memory.
He walked over to her, feeling unsteady. "I-she's beautiful."
Hermione licked her lips. "She's yours."
So abrupt, so blunt, so classically Hermione to put it such a way.
The room spun; he gripped the railing of the bed for support.
"How-how do you know? Are you sure? She-her hair-"
"Harry."
The way she said his name surprised him, cut short his babblings. It was an odd mixture of tenderness, heartbreak, regret, guilt, and, Merlin help him, love.
"She's yours. I know, for sure. It's a spell. I did it after Ron left. It shows magical signature-the combination of-well it doesn't matter. She's yours."
He looked down at the small figure in Hermione's arms, tiny arms and hands peaked out from the blanket, as though in a stretch, as she yawned.
Harry, despite it all, felt pride well up within him.
"I suspect," Hermione began, "That her hair colour came from your mother."
He reached out a shaky hand to gently touch the wisps of red curls.
A long pause.
"I haven't named her yet."
Harry looked up at her, furrowing his brow. "Why?"
"Well, I'm not about to let you chose it, what with you naming your second Albus Severus, I mean honestly. But-"
"Oye, I didn't chose that one, Ginny did-said it was heroic."
They both scoffed, and for a moment he felt that familiar comfort he had always associated with Hermione.
"But, well, I did think that you should, that is to say, have, perhaps, some input on the matter."
"Hermione-"
"I was thinking Rose." She cut him off quickly.
"Rose?"
"Yes." She paused momentarily. "I thought-well, your mum's side of the family does seem to have a fixation with flowers, what with Lily and Petunia, so I thought-" She trailed off.
Harry's throat closed up, making it hard for him to speak.
"I don't mean to be presumptuous," she rushed out. "Maybe this was a horrid idea, but I-"
Harry, for the first time in nine months, touched her, laying his hand on top of one of hers, effectively silencing her.
"It's perfect." He looked down again at the baby, at his baby, at Rose. "She's perfect."
He removed his hand, backing away.
"I should go."
She nodded.
He stared at her for a moment longer, watching a stray tear fall down her cheek, then at Rose, watching her let out another tiny yawn.
He opened mouth to offer congratulations, but then realized the situation did not warrant for it.
He closed his mouth and walked away.
Without a sound.
A/N: Couldn't help poking fun at Albus Severus' name. I mean, really, come on.
The idea for Rose's name comes from a wonderful post-DH story entitled Someday by Ivesia19. I highly recommend it. I thought it a great point and just had to borrow it, with her permission of course. Ivesia19 is also my beta, and I've just realized I haven't acknowledged her contribution to this story. I don't know what I was thinking! Thanks Ivesia19!
This is probably my favorite chapter, though I'm not sure why. I hope you all enjoyed it.